


Ineffable December

by roane



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Prompt Fic, gratuitous miracles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21650311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/pseuds/roane
Summary: A series of ficlets forsoft-angel-aziraphale's holiday prompt list.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37
Collections: An Ineffable Holiday 2019





	1. Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Rating and tags may change as the month goes on.

“Do you remember the first time you saw snow?” Aziraphale is in his new favorite place in the world, lying on his back in his bed with Crowley’s head resting on his shoulder while the rest of him is draped over the rest of Aziraphale. 

“Mmm?” Still half-asleep, Crowley burrows closer, pulling the blankets up higher. “It snowing?”

“Oh no, not at all.” Across from the bed, the window shows pale gray morning light, and a bit of sleet ticks against the glass. “Unfortunately.”

“Don’t like snow. ‘S cold.” Crowley lifts his head, wrinkling his nose. “No talking. Too early.”

Aziraphale is happy Crowley has no idea how adorably undemonic he looks when he’s half-asleep and pouting, hair sticking up every which way. “Yes, my dear.” He strokes Crowley’s hair as Crowley snuggles back in, his breathing deepening again.

—

Snow. Aziraphale remembers it clearly. It was when he first came to England, oh, maybe thirteen hundred years ago now. He’d never imagined such cold was possible. He reacted to the cold even worse than Crowley does now. That first winter he stayed in a monastery, bundled in as many layers as he could possibly manage, sitting by the fire when the brothers didn’t insist that he work, and wishing desperately that Heaven didn’t want him _here_. But the Vikings were a threat, and Heaven wanted this particular monastery protected, so here he was, in this icy frozen hell. 

Bloody Vikings. They never even had the courtesy to show up. To this day he wonders if Crowley hadn’t stolen them off to some other unsuspecting monastery.

One day one of the brothers came in covered in white crystals, and before Aziraphale could ask about it, the crystals started dissolving away. “We’ll be up to our knees by morning,” the brother said cheerfully. 

“In what?” It came out before Aziraphale could stop it. He tried his best not to seem too clueless about certain human things, but sometimes he slipped.

“Snow, what else?”

Curiosity overcame Aziraphale’s aversion to the cold, and he took his bundle of blankets and clothing layers out into the courtyard. 

It was raining, only it wasn’t rain. White clusters fell from the sky, and when Aziraphale touched one, it dissolved just as the ones inside had, into water. Frozen rain, then. But different. Not like the sleet Aziraphale had already seen. For one thing, this ‘snow’ didn’t hurt when it landed on his skin. There was… something magical about it. 

_I wish Crowley were here to see it._ It wasn’t the first time he thought of Crowley on seeing or tasting something novel, even though he knew those thoughts were dangerous ones. Still, it made him smile to think of Crowley—whom he hadn’t seen in nearly a century—somewhere nearby, stealing Aziraphale’s Vikings. Looking at the same snow for the first time. 

Maybe he was. Aziraphale would ask him about it the next time they spoke.

—

He didn’t though, and now a millennia and a half later, Aziraphale still has no idea. Watching the sleet hit the window, he gives Crowley an affectionate kiss on the temple and gets a sleepy mumble in response. He’ll ask him again when he’s awake. Maybe if he’s lucky, Crowley will say, _“I was with these Vikings along the coast of England…”_

An angel laughs, and outside the sleet turns into snow.


	2. Ice Skating

Regent’s Park Lake is busy with skaters, like a parade of ants moving in an endless circle. Down the slope, the bright colors of the women’s elaborate skating dresses contrast with the dark woolen coats of the men as they circle and circle and circle. Between them, children dart here and there like sparrows in the sky, coming together, moving apart, turning about as a single organism.

It’s still early in the season, so these skaters are the braver ones. Everyone else will wait until it’s colder still, and they’re more certain of the ice. 

Crowley suspects that’s one reason why they come to watch so often in the early season. Aziraphale _says_ he wants to skate someday, but Crowley knows Aziraphale better. If the angel really wanted to ice skate, he’d do it. He isn’t one to waffle on when there’s something he wants. 

_(Usually.)_

No, Crowley thinks he’s here playing guardian angel, and dragging Crowley out into this damnable cold with him.

It’s worth it though, to watch Aziraphale’s nose and cheeks turn red from cold, and then to warm up in the bookshop after with tea or cocoa. He’ll put up with a lot of discomfort to see Aziraphale’s eyes sparkle with joy. (Not that he’d ever admit that.) 

Out on the ice, a flock of boys seem to be chasing another, smaller, boy. The flicker of tension Crowley catches out of the corner of his eye tells him that Aziraphale saw it too. The lead chaser reminds Crowley of Gabriel: taller than the others, handsomer, and undoubtedly arrogant. The smaller boy has round cheeks and wide eyes. Although his hair is hidden by a woolen cap and there’s no way to tell his eye color at this distance, it’s easy for Crowley to imagine white-gold curls and bright blue eyes.

His fingers curl into the iron railing in front of him. “Uncivilized monsters, the lot of them.”

“They’re just children,” Aziraphale says. Still, there’s no smile in his voice. “They learn better as they grow.”

“Not all of them.” While Crowley watches, Not-Gabriel reaches out and snags Not-Aziraphale’s cap. The hair revealed is deep brown, but the impression sticks with Crowley. The boy puts on a burst of speed, glancing back with what looks like real fear. He skates toward an open area of the lake, one that the rest of the skaters are avoiding. With reason—the ice is much thinner there. 

Before either angel or demon can react, the boy slips across the thin patch. His pursuers follow. Perhaps the ice would have been strong enough to support one or two older boys, but not all of them.

Then again, maybe Crowley twitches his fingers a little against the railing to help matters along.

Out on the ice, the gang of older boys crashes through the ice with a series of satisfying screams. 

“Oh dear!” Aziraphale gasps, and his fingers twist and work until each of the boys is out of the water, with the help of bystanders and each other. The younger boy is long gone. 

Crowley fully expects Aziraphale to chide him again—he had to sense Crowley’s infernal workings—but he doesn’t. Once the tumult has cleared and the skaters resume their endless circling, Aziraphale still seems troubled.

“Angel, will you let it go? They’re all fine. Just some wet clothes, that’s all.”

“I know…” Aziraphale sighs. “But only the first one was supposed to go through, not the others.”

“Wait.” A smile blooms over Crowley’s face, slow and sly and delighted. The same smile as when he heard _I gave it away_. “Angel. Did you break that ice?”

“I just wanted to scare him a little. You were right, he _was_ being horrid.”

“And he looks like Gabriel.”

Aziraphale’s eyes cut toward Crowley then dart away again. It’s all the confirmation Crowley needs. “So you dunked him.”

Slowly Aziraphale nods, and Crowley laughs. “Angel, if we’re going to work together, you have to _tell_ me. We’re lucky we didn’t take out the entire lake.”

“Work together—you mean you—?”

Crowley shrugs. “He looked like Gabriel.”

He gets the smile he was hoping for, even if it is a little bit sheepish. “Well. That might have had a bit to do with it.”

“Come on.” Crowley bumps Aziraphale with his shoulder. “I’m freezing. Cocoa?”

“Only if you let _me_ make it. You use too much sugar.”

“Never thought I’d hear you complain about ‘too much sugar’...” 

Crowley lets Aziraphale lead him away, but before they leave the park, he glances over his shoulder at the lake, and the hole refreezes. Even more than that, the ice strengthens over the entire lake. 

Because the next time Aziraphale drags him here, they _are_ going to go skating. 


End file.
